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I didn’t havemuch to work with, but the little I did made all the difference. The tiny cottage—or so I’d decided to call it—smelled scrumptious. Dinner consisted of corn on the cob, potatoes without butter, and an alternate version of sautéed zucchini that included an array of mixed, well-seasoned vegetables. It was the best I could do with what I had and I was proud.
A thorough cleaning of the dishes that were already in the cottage rewarded me with an amazing, vintage table setting and pots that were made to last a lifetime. The cast-iron skillet was calling my name. I couldn’t wait to toss a few things inside. As I’d danced slowly around the kitchen to Sade, I’d began making a list of the things I needed from the market whenever the time came for me to venture into the city.
At the moment, I wasn’t ready. Settling was my only priority. Deciding on the structure of Mr. Domino’s daughter’s educational space was next. Whenever I ventured into the city, I wanted to collect everything I needed and everything she needed as well. Right now just wasn’t the time. My thoughts weren’t together.
Pillar candles sat on the table in front of me, begging to be lit as I got situated at the round, café-style table that was extremely precious and well-constructed. Giving into their yearning, I grabbed them both from the holders they stood tall in and headed to the stove. There was ticking before a flame ignited and supplied me with the light I needed for the tips of the unburned candles.
As I turned off the burner, I noticed the blinds in the large window near the sink were still open and moved to close them. As I cooked, I had chosen to peer into the openness of the land, reflecting on life and planting my feet in the moment. Everything was so beautiful. So freeing. So simple.
The land I’d stumbled upon had the ability to produce a life I’d never desired, but was excited to embark on. A to-do list ran a mile long as I considered exploring the fields, preparing eggs the chickens laid and learning the process of extraction for fresh goat milk. Even the thought of it as I took a final look out into the field made my jaws tingle and my heart beat rapidly.
The smile that threatened me with pleasantries faded before it was fully formed. The sight of the lone light shining from the home up the road burdened me with sadness. I turned toward the stove where food sat, covered in tops that didn’t match the pot.
Maybe he could use a hot meal. Food makes us all feel better, I reasoned.
Of course, it wouldn’t heal his brokenness but it would at least make him feel better momentarily. Quickly blowing out the candles I’d just lit, I laid them down beside the stove before grabbing a large plate and piling it with the food that I’d managed to whip up in spite of the lack of resources available to me.
And maybe I’ll join him. Neither of us has to eat alone. My thoughts were eating me alive as I did something I hadn’t been doing as of lately—make rational decisions. One would consider moving to Berkeley a rational decision, but it was far from it, in my opinion. As unhinged as it might’ve sounded, Berkeley felt like home for me. I’d only been here for about eleven hours, but I’d never felt so at peace, so grounded.
With his plate and mine in hand, I crept out of the door with caution. There was hardly enough leftovers to make another plate, let alone two more if I happened to drop the ones in my hand. I started out for the main home on the enormous patch of land without considering its distance. Each step I took in its direction, it felt as if it put more distance between us.
Eventually, I arrived. The coolness of the night breeze kept sweat from bursting through my pores and dripping down my skin. When my shoes tapped the concrete porch, I rejoiced inwardly. My adrenaline was altered as my nerves ended split in half.
Hi. I figured you could use a bite to eat.
Hi. I made dinner and thought you’d…
Hi. I cooked much more than I can stomach and wa—
Hi. Would you like dinner?
Hi. Dinner?
Hi. I’m not sure if you’ve eaten but I brought dinner over.
I was thinking we could talk… over dinner?
I gnawed on my inner lip, trying to decide on the words that would come from my mouth, but nothing felt right. Nothing felt real. Nothing felt authentic, causing me to grind my teeth against each other when I heard the door begin to open. I hadn’t rung the bell or knocked, so the knowledge of my presence on his behalf was baffling.
As the crack in the door expanded, so did my heart, anticipating the sight of the human on the other side. Though his disposition was a bit of a mystery, he felt familiar to me. It was as if I knew him. Maybe in another lifetime or something of the sorts. Whatever the case, he was no stranger to me or my heart—not by far.
Magnetic... I summed him up: It didn't matter how grumpy or how off-putting he was, I was drawn to him. And it wasn’t until we were standing face to face, unmoving and silent, that I uncovered the fact.
I swallowed, batting my eyes to smolder the pricking that had begun. And when it became too much, when he became too much, I closed them, praying to God for the strength to push me past the moment.
“You love me?” he asked, cupping my chin and looking into my eyes.
“Yes. I love you, Malachi.”
“To the motherfucking moon and back?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what, Anna?”
“To the moon and back.”
“That’s not what I said.”
